I call upon tradition
by Anrheithwyr
Summary: With Molly Weasley gone, who will carry on the long list of family traditions?


_June 30, 2052_

Someone was blasting "_Bring Him Home_" somewhere up on a higher floor in the house, which only seemed to remind Anna of how empty the Burrow truly was now.

Without Grandma Molly around, the Burrow was only just a house, the sort of place that Anna remembered mostly as crystal clear memories spending many summers and Christmases and Sunday suppers squashed around a table with cousins and second cousins, uncles and aunts, everyone bickering while Grandma Molly sat at the head of it all with a calm smile.

Looking around at the nearly emptied kitchen, Anna tried to wrap her mind around the fact that her great-grandmother was simply just _gone, _but it didn't matter how much she looked, she just could not see it.

She couldn't see how this place was still the Burrow without Grandma Molly's collection of pots, or the pile of cookbooks that had gathered up over the years, or the pair of Wellingtons that never fit anyone and only made Anna trip every time she came to visit.

And it was impossible to think of all the family traditions that were now gone, burnt up and scattered in the wind, just like Grandma Molly's ashes.

Anna felt blind, like she had been lied to, led to believe that people like Grandma Molly were immortal creatures who never died, always just _there_, ready with a hug or soup or a big comfy jumper and some comforting words.

Now, without her, where would they go each Sunday, those Weasley descendants who were not in school, who had gotten used to the habit of arriving on the doorstep of the Burrow each week, fitting themselves around a table that seemed to shrink a little more every year?

Without her, who would be able to make the Christmas jumpers for all the Weasley children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and even the _great-great-grandchildren_ who had lived long enough to see a woman as great as Molly Weasley?

It was like offering water to a thirsty man, luring him in with sweet promises of protection and security, only to rip such promises away from him just as he began to grow comfortable; Anna had become so used to the idea of her great-grandmother always being around that the fact that she was no longer alive completely threw her for a loop.

She simply just couldn't make herself process that information, though it had been nearly a month since Grandma Molly's death; it just didn't seem possible, even though Anna kept telling herself that it was time to wake up and see the world as it really was.

Her father had thought that sending Anna to help clean out the Burrow might help the teenager work through her grief, but for now, all it was doing was reminding her of all the memories and traditions that would be lost without her great-grandmother.

Anna looked around, spinning on the spot, so that she was facing the sitting room where the family had gathered each year to celebrate the holidays, handing out Christmas presents from youngest to eldest; Anna remembered having eagerly awaited her turn while all the younger children gleefully opened their first packages, which was always one of Grandma Molly's hand knit jumpers.

She remembered the way that Grandma Molly would take each and every one of the Weasley descendants and set them down next to her on the old, lumpy couch on their eleventh birthday and talk to them about Hogwarts.

Anna could still remember the exact conversation she had had with her great-grandmother, listening as the aging matriarch explained that there were four Houses for Anna to choose from, though, of course, she hadn't explained how you got _placed _in a House, and then Grandma Molly had kissed Anna on the cheek and told her that, _no matter the house, Grandma will always be proud of you_.

"Is it supposed to look like that, Anna?" Raegan, Anna's second cousin, asked, coming up through the front door, giving the now nearly empty kitchen a shocked look, mouth gaping as she took in how spacious the place seemed without the bowlegged wooden table and heaps of recipes. "It barely even looks like her kitchen anymore."

"No, Rae, this is _not _Grandma Molly's kitchen. Grandma Molly's kitchen was nice and cosy and always smelled like delicious foods. _This _is an empty old kitchen that belonged to someone else, someone who didn't love us like Grandma Molly did." Anna gave the freshly scrubbed sink a scowl, recalling the last time she had been here, when the sink had been piled high with not yet washed dishes.

She could barely even remember a time before now when there _wasn't _some cup or plate that was in need of a good washing, as children came in and out of the room, asking for a treat, for food, or for a sip of juice.

"Where's she gone, then, Anna? And if this isn't Grandma Molly's kitchen, then why are we cleaning it up? When's she coming back, Anna?" Raegan looked lost, as lost as Anna felt, with a crestfallen expression and clenched fists, a seven year old with frustration and nothing to do about it.

Anna felt as cold as ice as she shook her head, not even trying to find an explanation, because in all the wide world, there wasn't an explanation to be found that wasn't telling a little girl that Grandma Molly was _dead_, her ashes scattered over the land, with nothing left but the memories collected by those who had survived her.

_Those that had survived her_, the descendants and blood of Molly Weasley, which included four of her seven children, ten of her twelve grandchildren, thirty-two of thirty-three great-grandchildren, and three _great-great-grandchildren_, with more on the way.

How was it that all these people existed because of one woman, yet she wasn't even around anymore to see these people grow up and grow old, to have families and make mistakes, to love and lose that love and just generally enjoy life?

How could any of them even _enjoy _life without a woman as great as Molly Weasley, who was loving and caring and kind to everyone she had ever met? Anna didn't want to keep thinking about her great-grandmother being dead, and she began to shake, tears pooling in her eyes, a sliver of ice forming in her heart, hardening her.

She closed her eyes, choosing instead to remember the past rather than allowing herself to remain in the present or continue to strive for a future that did not include her great-grandmother.

Anna, eyes squeezed tightly shut, recalled her eighth birthday, the one that had started right in this very kitchen, sitting at the table with her grandmother as Grandma Molly finished making the cake, occasionally leaning over to kiss Anna on the forehead, calling her the _best girl ever_, patting her shoulder, letting her taste the cake.

She had felt so special on that day, the way that Grandma Molly always made people feel on their birthday, like they were the only one in the world who mattered to her for that one day, giving them all her attention and love, a thing that was rare to come by with over thirty great-grandchildren always demanding her attention.

And Grandma Molly had never forgotten a name, even when she got older and her mind began to wander; she _never _forgot a name or mixed anyone up, despite being swarmed by a sea of children, always talking and laughing and joking around.

Grandma Molly never once forgot that Anna was allergic to coconut and her older sister, Ruth, was allergic to peanuts and eggs, though their own parents seemed to lose track keeping count and had ended up having the two girls just keep a note on them at all times to inform people about their allergies.

Grandma Molly never got Nymphadora and Apolline, Victoire's twins, mixed up even though everyone else struggled to recall the difference between the two, a fact that Grandma Molly was always happy to remind people was that Apolline had a scar on the left side of her chin from a flying accident at age four, but Nymphadora had no such marks, as she was afraid of broomsticks.

Grandma Molly never forgot anyone's birthdays, even when they were at school, and she always sent them presents and sweets, along with the annual Christmas jumper every year, with which she would include a personalized note to each and every person.

Anna remembered the first time she had gone flying on a real broom rather than the toy one her mother had given her, her tiny little hands wrapped around the solid wood of the handle while Grandma Molly cheered her on, encouraging the six year, following her around the yard with promises to catch Anna if something were to happen.

Anna recalled how Grandma Molly would always hand out sparklers at their annual summer party, keeping mind to caution the younger children about the dangers of being too wild with fire, and the way she would always sigh when someone singed their finger, but bandaged them up without a mean word all the same.

There were a hundred traditions, some that were so ingrained in Anna's memories that she couldn't ever remember a time that they _didn't _happen, and now they would all be gone, tossed into the wind along with Anna's great-grandmother, to be lost and forgotten as if they had never existed in the first place.

This thought upset her, the idea of all those traditions being lost or dropped because there were just too many family members and not enough time to be able to handle them all; the Christmas jumpers that took all year to make, the family dinners that had required four or five tables to seat them all, the way they would always gather at the end of July to celebrate Grandpa Harry's birthday and set off as many fireworks as they could get their hands on.

All of it would be gone now, because that was the sort of thing that Grandma Molly always set up, and no one else even think to keep such traditions alive, because it took up too much time or money or energy, and no one but Grandma Molly seemed to care enough to keep their ever expanding family together.

"Anna, who's gonna do the Christmas jumpers now? I don't know _how_ to make a jumper, Anna. Who's gonna make 'em now? Who's gonna make 'em now, Anna?" Raegan had begun to cry, snapping Anna from her trip down memory lane, causing her look down at the sobbing young girl, who was sniffing as she tugged at Anna's shirt, her cheeks turning pink with emotion.

"I don't know who's going to do the jumpers now, Rae, I really don't. Please...please don't cry, oh please don't. Rae, come one, don't cry, not now, please?" Anna was lost on how to help Raegan, who was pleading and begging Anna to do _something, anything_, but Anna didn't know if there was anything she even _could _do.

She tried to give the a girl a comforting hug, even kissing her on the forehead like Grandma Molly would have done, but Anna wasn't comforting or reassuring like her great-grandmother was, and Raegan only continue to cry as she clutched Anna around the middle and blubbered about the Christmas jumpers.

This was just another thing that only Grandma Molly could always do so well, soothing and calming down little kids with ease; she always seemed to know exactly what to say to help someone through any problem imaginable, an she could always find some way to make everything better, no matter how bleak things appeared to be at the time.

She couldn't help but continue to remember all the things their family had been doing for years, now all lost with one woman. Who _was_ going to continue the Christmas jumpers? What was Sunday supper being turned into?

What if, now that Grandma Molly was gone, they hardly ever saw each other? It had come to the point where Anna really only saw her extended family members at school, those who were still in attendance, or at the Burrow, but now that they had no reason to be here, was it possible that Anna would only see people like Raegan at important events, like funerals or weddings?

The idea scared her, and she was almost tempted to lie to Raegan and say that _she_ of all people, shy Anna with no ability to do all the great things Grandma Molly had always done, would take up the role of carrying on these traditions.

But instead, she just remained silent, letting Raegan cry, and worried about all the family traditions that would be lost to indifference, forgotten over time, just like Grandma Molly would be.


End file.
